


Night, After Night

by yuletide_archivist



Category: History Boys - Bennett
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 04:36:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1631900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irwin dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night, After Night

**Author's Note:**

> Bushels of thanks to Hannah, for purging me of several unnecessary commas, and to Katie, for the most amazingly comprehensive beta ever. 
> 
> Written for emiime

 

 

From the time you are twelve, you will dream about a woman. 

She will have dark hair and eyes, and soft skin. You will move over her, your twelve year old mind not quite understanding the mechanics of it all. It will feel wonderful, and you will wake up sweaty and guilty and hide your sheets before your mother can find the evidence. 

At twelve, you will dream of her night, after night, after night.

At thirteen there will be a new boy in your school. He will have big brown eyes and a delicate nose and you will watch him. He will have a comfortable, easy manner, and despite all odds (you have always been reserved, bespectacled, and fairly unpopular) you will become friends. 

He will tell you about the girl he kissed behind the ball shed and you will understand the mechanics of it a bit more. You will kiss the woman in your dreams and she will melt into your arms and then you will move over her and it will feel wonderful, and you will dream of her night, after night, after night. 

At age fifteen, the two of you will fall for the same gir. It will resolve itself in the form of a wrestling match behind the science blocks. You will end up pressed against his back with one hand in his hair and the other around his wrist to keep him from hitting you. Something inside you will click. He will freeze, and then he will wrench himself out of your grip and spin on you, desperate and wild and shove you away from him into a wall. What the fuck are you doing, he will hiss, nancy, and your head will clunk painfully against the wood. 

At fifteen, the woman will start to take on a different form. She will be more straight lines and hard angles and she will shove you against a wall and it will feel wonderful, and you will dream of her night, after night, after night. 

You will get your first hand-job, and other things, at the sad old age of eighteen. A small boy with blonde hair and a nose too big for his face will catch and hold your gaze in gym class in a way that you cannot possibly mistake. You will stay late in the showers, and he will drop to his knees on the slippery tiles, and you will close your eyes and think only how _awkward_ it all is. When he is done you will get the hell out of there.

You will focus all your energies on getting into college. Instead of the woman, you will dream of exams, old books, and even older men with severe faces and big noses who will drop to their knees in front of you in the showers. There is nothing even remotely foggy about the mechanics of it all now. 

Some years later you will get your first real teaching job. There will be a boy there with dark hair and eyes and skin that looks like it would be soft to touch. He will catch and hold your gaze in a way you cannot possibly mistake. You will catch and hold _his_ gaze in a way he cannot possibly mistake. But you will not touch him. You will _not_ touch him. 

You will touch him. Or, he will touch you. You will be in a dark little supply room, and he will have one hand on your shoulder, and one over your mouth, and you will feel like you are eight. You will also be hard in your trousers, which will feel a little more like twelve. 

Later, you will surrender to his attack, half out of desperation, half out of desire, and when he finally quits the classroom, leaving you with a sinking feeling in your stomach and hands that wonÕt stop shaking, you will have a terrible premonition that all your life is about to crash into little tiny pieces about your ears. 

It does. Along with your leg. 

 


End file.
